


The Seven Stages

by Idonquixote



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Campania Arc, Ciel and Undertaker have issues, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Sebastian gets mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 10:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4873120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idonquixote/pseuds/Idonquixote
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Campania AU. Sebastian's wounds prove fatal. Alone and trapped, Ciel is left adjusting to a life with the Undertaker as his sole companion. Without his butler.  </p><p>The seven stages of grief: shock, denial, anger, bargaining, guilt, depression, acceptance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Seven Stages

**Author's Note:**

> Here's another plot bunny I couldn't resist writing for. To be honest, I looked back and realized I'd actually killed Ciel off thrice in my past Kuro fics. It only happened once for Sebastian. So to even the score, Ciel lives this time and Sebastian dies! Can't say I really think this is what happens if Campania happened differently, but it's fun to play with (for me, not for Ciel).
> 
> That being said, this is more of an experimental one-shot than anything else, and I hope the characters come off as relatively IC. I hope you enjoy the read.

Stage I: shock

"Is it morning already?"

Ciel repeated those words, letting each syllable slide over his tongue, heavy and dry. In the delirium that followed his fever, night and day had blended into a dizzying haze- there was nothing to differentiate the sun from the moon, the black from the blue. He saw shadows and starlight, sun and rain, things that were entirely beyond his control. Even the bed under him felt unnaturally soft, a foreign delicacy to it. Foreign.

He never recalled taking a trip. _It's that dolt's fault_. The earl must have been moved in his sleep- no doubt that idiot had panicked and rushed him over to the hospital. That must have been it. There were no flowers on the nightstand. _Strange_. Elizabeth must not know yet- that was good, no need to worry her. Elizabeth. Lizzie. His dear Lizzie.

He suddenly wanted to see her, wanted to hear her laugh, wanted her hand over his own. He simply wanted her near, his tangible dear Lizzie. But she had been tangible, hadn't she? He was pulling her along- she was- he was-

 _The Campania_.

"Is it morning already?"

Ciel felt heavy- his stomach was empty enough, the strength having long since left his frail body. But he had never _felt_ this frail. The incident at the Baron's house was something he would rather not dwell on. But even then, someone had carried him out- even then-

"Are you well, earl?" It was a familiar voice, soothing, loving even. Long black nails, a cold hand on his head. Tendrils of silver hair brushed against his skin. Yellow green eyes stared into his own. Ciel's vision had never been more clear.

He never knew when the Undertaker would reply or how long the man would be there, holding his hand. Ciel made to pull away, weakly groaning. Realization always came too late, a strange excitement of emotion that made him want to vomit and cheer. And the white of his bed would take on the color of blood, the long black nails would belong to another hand, and-

"Sebastian."

He had meant to shout the name, but he could only manage an awkward whisper. The Undertaker shushed him with a finger. Ciel knew the answer, but the corks in his mind refused to let him ask anything else.

"What did you to him?"

"I got rid of him." The Undertaker chuckled. "And you will never be miserable again, earl. I will protect you."

Sebastian never failed. Even if Ciel wanted him too, the dolt would never fail. Ever undefeated, ever strong, never a hair out of place- that was his Sebastian. 

"Let me go," he demanded, voice hoarse.

"It's not safe out there, earl. You have many enemies."

The blood pooled and pooled under his hands, the same way it had done when he found the dying dog. Sebastian. The labored breaths, the lids that refused to open, the first order his butler had failed to comply with-

"I can take care of myself- let me. Go."

_But how?_

"And how will you do that, earl? You need me and I need you."

_How did you leave me?_

"Earl, I will keep you safe. I failed to save your father. But you, you earl, I will never fail again."

The Undertaker was stroking his head again. His skin felt unreal against Ciel's own, as if he was in another body altogether. Sebastian had failed him. Ciel could not forgive that transgression, could not accept it, could simply not forget it.

"Sebastian!"

And quite forcefully, that hand pressed over his mouth- it hadn't meant to hurt, merely to shut- a cloth in between. Ciel felt the chloroform take its effect, and this time, there would be no rescuer. And somehow, a part of him was incapable of believing this.  

Stage II: denial

"Bard told me this one: why did the chicken cross the road?" Ciel asked, impatiently tapping his fingers on the windowsill.

His companion let out a strangled laugh, high-pitched and familiar, a telltale sign that nothing had changed between them. Nothing at all. Now that he had recovered from his fever, the earl was anticipating a new case from the Queen. Sebastian had informed him of a letter the previous morning, but his illness had prevented further action. 

"Oh, that's an old one, a real old 'un," the Undertaker said between wheezes, wiping tears from his own eyes. Through those banes, Ciel could see that the man was not laughing. It pained him to look at those eyes- there was a reflection in them, of some sorrow only the two of them understood.

But Ciel had moved on from his sorrows long ago. Now he just had to keep the Undertaker entertained long enough for the latter to give him the information he needed.

"I'm thirsty," the boy said, "I'll ring for Sebastian- would you care for tea?"

His companion's face darkened. "There are no servants here, earl. I shall provide whatever it is you need."

"I know those three are idiots, but-" a phantom pain seized him. There were four of them- Snake, the new footman. No, five. Tanaka. And-

"Sebastian!" Ciel called, "I am becoming very impatient!"

He touched his right eye, freezing at the contact of fingers against bare lids- the eyepatch was gone. His anger boiled. "That idiot," he hissed.

"Earl."

To his surprise, found himself in the Undertaker's embrace, the long hair draping over him yet again. "You're not well again. Come, I'll put you to bed."

"Let go of me!" 

"So stubborn, so much like them. So like them." Wetness on his shoulder. Ciel was lost, gaping as the Undertaker sobbed into him. 

"Sebastian!" he called again.

"What has that creature done to you?" the Undertaker whispered, "what has he done to hurt you so, earl?"

This conversation unnerved him. There were a number of things Sebastian had wronged him with, trying to take his soul among the worst. But that was a secret the pact would carry to the grave. The other wrong was abandoning him to the madman's ravings. The demon was likely petting cats as they spoke! Of all the insolent-

Almost unconsciously, Ciel found himself weaving his fingers through the Undertaker's hair, trying to soothe the latter in the only way he knew how.

"If the earl could see me now," he heard the man whisper, "if he could see me now."

His father. Ciel recalled the feeling of sitting on his father's lap, the nobleman's warm eyes smiling down at him. His predecessor had long since died. And now it dawned on him again that his father was gone. His mother was gone. The manor had burned. And it dawned on him that Sebastian was gone as well- the grim reaper had left him to die on that ship. The Campania.

"Oh, earl."

Ciel's hand stopped.

The ship had gone down. He had no news of the Midfords. No news of the Queen. And Sebastian, too battered to move, torn and abandoned on that deck. _I left him_. Yes, Ciel had left the demon to die. It had nothing to do with the Undertaker. He had outsmarted the demon himself, left the monster to rot. He won this game himself.

"Shut up," the young earl ordered coldly, taking his hands away from the reaper's head. 

When the Undertaker continued to let tears loose, he found himself at his wit's end. "Did you not hear me? I told you to _shut the fuck_ up."

Stage III: anger

He must have missed Easter. Time was hard to count in their home. The manor was vast and secluded, but without a clock or paper in sight. It must have been why he slept so well- there was no ticking of a watch to remind him of his mortality. He was virtually free, perhaps even immortal if he allowed himself to believe. But Ciel Phantomhive was not that sort of gentleman.

They had abandoned him, all of them, just like they did before. He had once prayed with all his soul for someone, anyone, to save him from his hell, and no one had come. No one but- no, _he_ had abandoned Ciel too.

Sebastian Michaelis was especially guilty of this crime. He was a hypocrite and a liar, a weakling to the core and for all intents and purposes, Ciel was glad he was gone. He was a cat-loving moron anyway, and a heartless monster to boot. _And you were not?_

Ciel lost himself in the novels of the mansion's expansive library. They were good books, but he had not the heart for philosophy. Only the children's books interested him. He was bitter over this- it was a waste of his time. But the Undertaker was watching his every move, he knew, and escape was futile. Besides, where would he go? Who would come for him?

Elizabeth would be better off without his shadow in her way. No innocents would ever burn again. And he supposed his servants could find some other kindhearted employer- that would delight Finnian. Out of the blue, he thought of Soma. He missed the prince. At the thought, he flung his book at the nearest shelf.

"Damn it!"

What was wrong with him? Perhaps there had always been a wrongness about him. The wrong train of thought, the wrong actions, the wrong body, the wrong life- it was all wrong. _Oh, earl_. He was the wrong earl. He knew this better than anyone else. 

"Undertaker!" he cried. 

The reaper was slow- the demon had been at his beck and call. But he had slain the demon, dyed his scythe red with the other's blood, and broken Ciel's pawn beyond repair. Ciel's damnation. Yes, he supposed he was in the Undertaker's debt now- he would keep his soul now. And that thought angered him the most. He would be in no one's debt. Especially that reaper's.

Stage IV: bargaining

Ciel wondered what it was about the dead. When one dies, all is forgiven. There was a tendency to romanticize every aspect, to elevate them, to love them more than they had ever been in life. He supposed that was true. Vincent Phantomhive was no great man by any means, and yet his predecessor was beloved by all, renowned with a fondness Ciel doubted they had for him when he lived.

He thought of his aunt, his bloodthirsty, tragic desperate woman of an aunt. Madame Red was gone. And in her loss, he could not remember her as she tried to strike him dead. He remembered the sloppy kisses, the cards, and laughs- someone far brighter and happier than she had ever been in life.

Ciel found it odd that Sebastian had died in his corporeal form. The mighty demon had passed on as any mortal man would, with drained color and a final weak breath. He had died a butler, without so much a taste of the soul he lusted after for so long. It was ironic, comical even. And somehow, his face changed with each flash of Ciel's memory.

Sebastian had died in peace, his immortality cut away at last. Or even better yet, Sebastian had looked on with fondness at his charge before he hit the ground. Perhaps Sebastian had embraced him in a knee-jerk moment, taking that fatal blow as per his responsibility for the contract. But there had been something in his face, a genuine concern, a shining selflessness.

Sebastian had died for him. Sebastian had died redeemed. Perhaps the contract was meant to be broken this way.

And now that it was broken, perhaps-

"Bring him back, Undertaker," Ciel said calmly as the reaper put him to bed, "I want my butler."

"No more of this," the Undertaker said lowly.

Ciel gave a haughty breath. "I've done all you asked- I will not leave this house. In fact, I will never ask about the Queen or London if that pleases you. Surely, a bargain wouldn't fail to sway you?"

"Earl-"

"My demand is simple. You reapers can send demons back to hell. Bring one back."

Perhaps his butler could return. And all could go back to the way it was. It was strange how gloomy life used to be- Sebastian had been a dark blight looming over his life, some grand obstacle in his path. Now that it was cleared, Ciel supposed he was wrong; with Sebastian, it had always been colored tea and milk with honey. The Undertaker had never served him milk with honey.

"I cannot nor should you be asking such things."

Because Ciel never told him to. No, milk with honey was sacred. 

"What more do you want?"

Ciel sputtered, the Undertaker pulling him up by the collar, a choking familiar grip.

"Come to your senses, earl."

For the sake of breathing, Ciel nodded. Gentle as a lamb, the Undertaker laid him back down, smoothing the boy's ruffled collar. He smiled tenderly, gazing on Ciel as a father would his newborn babe. Perhaps Sebastian had looked at him like that in his dying moments. 

Stage V: guilt

Come to think of it, this was not the first time Sebastian had been injured in the line of duty. Ciel remembered him pulling his hand back from Madame Red's nape, slowly using it to cover his own bleeding shoulder. A blow like that must have been painful, Ciel was sure. It had nearly lopped the demon's whole arm off. He supposed he could chalk Sebastian taking that next blow from a mistake.

Having been hit so many times, the demon must have known the consequences of a death scythe. And still, he had charged for the earl when the Undertaker flung him into the air. Perhaps without so much as a second thought, Sebastian had reached for him, and even after that devastating blow through the back, he had used every last reservoir of energy to cushion the boy's fall. Ciel thought back to the moments crawling up to the demon's finale.

If he had more bullets- he could have detained the Undertaker somehow. If he had been more alert, perhaps he would never have been used as bait. And yet if Sebastian had avoided that blow, the earl would be broken on the ground in his place. 

"Your father was always so messy, he he," the Undertaker mused, washing Ciel's hair. He kneeled by the bathtub, Ciel leaning on the inside.

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" the boy retorted.

The Undertaker only grinned. Ciel almost smirked back.

But one blow had not been enough for the Undertaker. It had taken Sebastian a good minute to recover his breath and the scythe came down again- Ciel wondered if the reaper knew what would happen next. Of course he did- it was such an obvious outcome. He aimed the scythe at the boy the second time. Sebastian took that blow as well. Ciel had never seen so much blood pour out of a wound.

The water was wet. He shuddered.

"Ah, oops!"

A stab of pain cut him in the cheek. Ciel winced. The Undertaker's nail had dug into his left cheekbone. It quickly left, but the blood had started to roll. 

"Earl- I-"

"Don't touch me!" Ciel yelled, slapping the hand away. He stood up shakily, trying to crawl over the tub. "I'll take care of it myself!"

Sebastian had never cut him once. Even with claws, the demon had somehow avoided mangling his face. Anger, irritation, and a sudden surge of guilt tore at him. The image of Sebastian's broken form sinking with the ship gnawed at him. 

The Undertaker tried to touch him, but Ciel smacked him away with each try. "I don't want your apologies."

Stage VI: depression

In the end, it hardly mattered what he felt. The loss and loneliness were what weighed him down so long ago, and now, it was foolish to dwell on such emotions. He refused to leave his bed. The Undertaker was right- it was a dangerous world outside. Here, he was protected, sheltered, gone. He just wanted to be gone.

They were all gone now, Elizabeth, Soma, Finnian, Bard, Meyrin, Madame Red, his parents- Sebastian.

His nerves felt fried, his eyes were too heavy, his entire being was out of place. Ciel likened the rain to the beating of his heart, somber and too long for comfort. He was worse than a bird in a cage- his wings were clipped and burnt, the cage now rusting and locked for good. Revenge was such a silly thing now. He touched the scar on his cheek. And felt nothing.

He wondered if his eyes were shining. Ciel Phantomhive. _That is who I am_. But did it matter anymore?

"Earl, cheer up."

The Undertaker sat by his side, stroking his head, murmuring words of comfort, not that Ciel cared to listen. _I had a nightmare, Sebastian. When I wake up, you will stay by side until I fall asleep yet again. That is an order._

To the boy's frustration, he found his pillow stained with salty tears. They could not be his own. But though the Undertaker's eyes were pained, they were dry. Ciel stared at him, reaching out a hand, the reaper instinctively taking it in his own, the prime picture of concern.

"You wanted to save me."

"Yes."

"You did."

The Undertaker smiled tenderly. "Yes. You're safe now, earl."

"Then..." Ciel's grip tightened, "why didn't you save me back then?"

"Earl-"

He didn't want to hear- he wanted to speak. "I waited for so long, for somebody- it could have been anyone. Anyone at all. I wanted to die, I wanted to live- I was in so much pain I thought hell would be preferable to life. I prayed, and I waited. Where were you then?"

"I made a mistake."

"No, you simply failed. But he did not. He came. Don't you understand? _He came for me!_ No one else did- he came when you didn't." He was blubbering- the Undertaker struggled to leave his grip but Ciel refused to uncurl his fingers. "He was there- if nothing else, he was there. And you were not. That's all there is to it, Undertaker. The monster was there. And you were not."

Stage VII: acceptance

Ciel dangled the locket in his hands: Claudia P. The Undertaker said it was his grandmother, a fine woman he was fond of. It was foolish to keep such a trinket- such things make one remember and memories, Ciel knew, brought nothing but pain. To hang onto his grief was pathetic. But that was the Undertaker's way and Ciel would not fault him.

"She has your hair," the Undertaker said, coming to take a seat by Ciel on the divan, "dark, silky..."

"My father's hair, then."

He chuckled. "Yes, mother and son. Now father and son." He put an affectionate hand on Ciel's head. The boy stiffened.

"Undertaker," he said, "you can keep me here for as long as I live. And when I die, you have free reign to do whatever it is you need to with my soul." He let the locket drop unceremoniously to the floor.

"But I will never be my predecessor. And whatever it is I mean to you, you never will to me."

They were cruel words, crafted to sting, some dumb attempt to avenge himself. The Undertaker said nothing, save a noise that sounded like "hm." Long nails raked against the back of Ciel's head. 

"Earl," the reaper said softly, beautiful broken gaze visible as he turned his head, "I know. You might find it amusing how long it took me to figure it out. I've accepted it."

Ciel pondered, staring down at their melding shadows. He kicked the locket. The earl shook his head.

"No, no you have not."

_But I have. And that is where I win. Checkmate._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, comments/kudos are more than welcome!
> 
> And yes, Sebastian is dead as a doornail in this fic.


End file.
